


take

by cucumberowl



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, also its kinda seonghwa/everyone but, fucking sad!, its a sad fic just a warning, mainly wooyoung in the second part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:24:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumberowl/pseuds/cucumberowl
Summary: seonghwa likes to help everyone but himself





	take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just the opening to this shit. i wrote it a bit ago but-  
> anyway second part is all porn so.  
> also this is just a vent fic too, if ur here for porn i will finish soon  
> hound me on twitter @y_nhwa if u want

It didn’t feel right for Seonghwa to exist.

 

It didn’t feel normal for him to eat and sleep and breathe. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t feel right in performing any of those things. It just wasn’t okay to exist, and in a way it turned into him not wanting to exist. So, really, Seonghwa didn’t want to live anymore. 

He only blinked at the dark when he realized it.

It’s a simple conclusion he came to after a night of no sleep, listening to Hongjoongs quiet breathing. He’s just not a person able to live freely in this world, live freely without feeling uncomfortable in his own body. His face was okay, body alright, and attitude above most, but it wasn’t enough. Never will be  _ enough  _ for him to be fine, so now he figures the problem is that he can’t exist anymore.

And is it wrong for him to choose this? To feel this after years and years of work and then to suddenly hate everything he’s created for himself? His body is his own, but it’s not at all; he hates seeing what he’s supposed to be and knowing that that’s not his existence. That that’s  _ not  _ what he wants to be. He won’t live normally, he knows, since his mind has been made up. Just one thought about not living, stop breathing and thinking, is all it takes in the beginning. Seonghwa waits until he hears the bathroom door shut before crawling out of bed, tiptoeing to not disturb his roommate.

He won’t do it now; the repercussions of those actions would affect the rest of the members severely, and he can’t do that, can’t ruin their futures before they’ve begun. Seonghwa loves his team; he loves them more than his heart allows. They have so much love to give, so much passion and energy into every project placed in their hands, but Seonghwa knows that love is scarce. That he doesn’t get the love they give, doesn’t receive swift kisses and chaste hugs because he’s older. He’s told it’s because of his ‘secluded nature’ but he knows the truth; they can’t love someone like him. So when he looks at himself in their shared bathroom, black hair matted and bangs too long, he accepts that. 

It’s a couple hours before Seonghwa is finished in the bathroom, staring at his reflection until every pore and blemish is ingrained into his skull. He hates existing. He hates feeling his feet walking out of the door, down to where morning light is shining in, and turning to see Yeosang. He won’t say much to the younger, just nodding his head, masking sadness into sleepiness and humming when he hears a hello. Seonghwa forces himself not to think how the younger will likely crawl into bed with another, waking them up warmly as he hears him pad away from the kitchen. He tries to imagine being the one to be asleep, to wake up later and have the body of another enveloped in his. But he chuckles to himself, pouring orange juice into a glass, knowing that that’ll never be.

His main problem is caring too much, obviously. His appearance, body, existence, the members, life, anything. Caring isn’t wrong, but he knows it consumes his thought process. He  _ lets  _ it consume his thoughts, lets his mind think that  _ yes, they hate you but you have to love them because that’s your job.  _ Seonghwa let’s them live freely, taking care of the tears and horrors in their heads behind his door. He takes all the worry from them and lets them cry, lets them hurt and whine and yell. Always holding them, comforting with soft hands and short laughs, but always stopping once the tears cease. It’s not his job to, but he has to, because no one else will. It doesn’t feel right to exist like this, and Seonghwa downs the glass in one go, letting the cold burn his chest. 

 

Without him, the others would fall into what he’s in, and that alone drives him to push on. He watches everyone smile, laugh, breathe in and out without constantly being aware of it, and he feels hate. Hate to himself and hate to how they can live normally. But it’s his own fault they they do, it’s Seonghwa’s need to be  _ loved  _ that they can smile without thinking of pills stored underneath their bed. It’s his disgust of  _ himself  _ that switches his mind to wipe tears away while wondering how painful would it be to drown. He hates the person he is and hates the way he won’t stop, won’t tell the others that it’s  _ hell  _ to live like this. 

So he gives and gives, and they take and take unknowingly, never questioning something they know the answer to. He lets time pass, never changing and watching the same ceiling during the late hours in the night. He hears knocks sometimes, a hushed voice calling to their leader and small steps to the bunk, the rustle of blankets until there’s two sets of bodies beneath his bed. He’s gotten good at controlling emotions, controlling his want to cry and to lash out, since what would that do? What would tears staining his pillow achieve? Confirming that yeah, he’s not okay and that yeah, he hates living in this body. Seonghwa knows this, doesn’t need tears to show it. He sleeps when the burn is too much in his nose, sleeps when his nails dig too hard into his palm and he’s done for the night. 

  
  


Months blend together, his face not sunken and blotchy since he was painted fresh minutes ago. It would get worse, naturally, but he accepted that. He watches Yunho dance around Mingi, some game they play while waiting until it’s time to perform, and smiles. He likes to think they are worry free, carrying their own stress on their bodies, but  _ mentally  _ free because of him. In the last weeks of touring, others would hold  _ him  _ now, cry to him, some even kiss him slowly, mouthing at something they desperately need. And Seonghwa gave them his mouth, gave them his hands on their skin and words hummed into their ears. He pictured his love flowing into them, his happiness theirs.

He watches his dynamic with the members morph, watches how much he lets them affect him more and more. Seeing Yunho smile bright, dodging a reaching Mingi over a sofa, but knowing the older had moaned into his mouth hours ago had a different feeling. Not because of said boy, but because of how much they needed him. He felt alive when San would grip at his hair, explore his mouth with his tongue and  _ feel  _ him. He felt a burn in his chest when Yeosang would beg him to take control, to do  _ something  _ for him that no one else could. But it was still the same, and nothing changed. They were taking from him, but this time, maybe Seonghwa was taking from them, too.

He waited now, resting casually on his bed in his hotel room, for a dulled knock on his door, always later when sleep escaped the group. Today was Yunho in a bathroom restaurant somewhere in London, but tonight it’s Hongjoong wrapping around Seonghwa, not waiting to spill his stress into the older. It became addicting, waiting for whatever member would feel low, feel like taking and taking and running to Seonghwa, who  _ gave and fucking gave _ . He ate up their moans, their hands pulling at his body, the bruises they left without realizing. It was the sweetest when they’d needed more, grinding into Seonghwa’s thighs, ripping off pants and chasing that bliss the oldest always gave them. It was heaven and hell all in one, and Seonghwa would always lick his lips clean after they came. Hongjoong moaned once Seonghwa smiled, all of today’s worries gone, swallowed down his throat.

 

He quickly realized how selfish his attitude became, watching the members eat at dinner but thinking how they were all his. He made them happy, made them feel alive, and it wasn’t enough anymore, never  _ was  _ enough. Seonghwa hated existing, but loved to take and take and  _ take _ . A drug with the only cost of cum shooting on his face, or swallowed bitterly down his throat. He felt so,  _ so  _ good. He needed to fuck one of them.

It came to him during a practice, the tours forgotten in the summer heat, and he felt uncomfortable in his track pants, dripping in sweat and watching Wooyoung in the mirror. The boy kept dancing when the others had stopped, choosing to push himself because he needed to be good, to be perfect. He heard one of the members, probably Hongjoong, comment how Wooyoung could stop now, could get a drink and ‘take a break.’ Wooyoung gritted his teeth, looked at himself with disgust before stopping and grabbing a water. That’s when Seonghwa knew he wanted to fuck Wooyoung. 

He didn’t know how to do it, didn’t know how much he could take from the younger. Wooyoung acted different than the rest; he would kiss Seonghwa timidly before asking if they could just cuddle. He would cum on Seonghwas lips, whimpering out the olders name with glossy eyes. Seonghwa almost thought he cared, thought that Wooyoung didn’t only go to him to dump his troubles into him. Seonghwa let Wooyoung get to him, let his gentle hands and small gasps consume him. Let his innocent nature fill his mind and have him jerk off in the shower to the idea of plowing into Wooyoung. Seonghwa hated existing, but he wouldn’t hate giving and giving to the younger.

So Seonghwa waited. He waited and waited, kissing whoever found him first and consuming all the worries and fears down his throat. Even Jongho took from him, used the love Seonghwa gives so freely and ate away. Seonghwa didn’t think the youngest could bruise him the worst, could fuck his mouth so  _ good  _ and make him hate living even more. He’d fall on the kitchen floor, watching the youngers feet walk away and he would cry. Cry because he knows that there’s nothing for him with them, nothing but his mouth and his sweet words and his need to make them happy. To have them be loved, to have them remind himself that he is  _ nothing _ . He choked on the sobs shaking his body, thinking how he was selfish for craving so much more.


End file.
